<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Cul-de-sac by doublejoint</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535990">Cul-de-sac</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint'>doublejoint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:14:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His thoughts persist, and Zoro wants.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roronoa Zoro/Trafalgar D. Water Law</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cul-de-sac</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Law’s hands in motion are magnetic, from the twist of his fingers to his other hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He’s not the kind of swordsman Zoro is or wants to be; the sword is a tool, but an extension of his body and his will, its curse bent to his objective. He is precise; he cleaves without drawing blood unless he absolutely means to, a function of his devil fruit power, perhaps, but a difficult, slipper skill. It probably looks easy if you’re not a swordsman, and it probably is easy for him after however long since he’s learned it, but the practiced quality is obvious to Zoro. He’s not a natural, and he doesn’t settle for good enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zoro can’t stop looking at his hands when they’re still, either, the curves of his thumbs and the lines on his palms, the letters tattooed on his fingers, only half-visible when his hand rests upturned in his lap. Or his forearms, the pale of his wrists, the tattoos that look like flowers, only Zoro doesn’t know enough about flowers to say what kind specifically they remind him of. Zoro closes his eye, tilting his head back, the brightness of the sun obvious even like this. He wants to touch, to feel Law’s hands in his--Law’s fingers are longer, probably; could they enclose his completely? Could one of his hands wrap around Law’s thin wrist? Zoro rubs his forehead. He should just let these passing thoughts float away in the wake of the boat, but he hasn’t. They persist, and he wants.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Luffy wears a shirt with sunflowers printed on it, and they team up even more tightly with Law, tangling together like seaweed, and there are so many damn flowers in Dressrosa. And they win, by pushing the cage and pushing their limits and pushing against time--but of course they win. And when they celebrate afterwards, if Zoro happens to be the one who pulls Law in despite his protests, for a couple of seconds has his arm draped around Law’s shoulders and taps his half-finished mug against Law’s before he downs the rest and gets a refill, then what of it? (And if Law gives him a slightly-less-annoyed expression later, when he’s finally finished his first drink and Zoro drains his and gets them both more, well, Zoro’s not going to make it mean more than it does, but he’s also not going to pretend not to smile back, and Law doesn’t move away from their close proximity.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling settles in Zoro like a warm meal on a cold day, washed down with hot sake afterwards. He still wants to reach out and hold Law’s hands, but Law’s arm is still healing, and he’s not going to be so foolishly forward, as impulsive as he can be. He looks at his own hands, calluses and fading scars and blunt nails, curled into loose fists while his drink sits in his lap. Definitely smaller than Law’s.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They have so much to do that it should be easy to put aside these feelings, and in some ways it is. There’s a lot to focus on, but Zoro doesn’t know much about Wano and Kin’emon, Kanjuurou and Raizou have been planning this in some form for quite a while. There’s only so much Zoro can contribute, only so much that he can memorize. His own part is relatively small and simple, and the whole things involves waiting for the moment, and waiting for Luffy and Nami to drag the cook back from a wedding he hopefully hasn’t already rushed into (though really there’s nothing to worry about; no matter what that guy gets into, he can handle himself and Luffy will yank him out straight through walls and locked doors and signed oaths if it’s really come to that). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The submarine is small, though; it feels smaller because they’re all packed in, and Zoro can’t always find a quiet corner to nap or clean his swords or have a drink as easily as he’d like. But when he does, sometimes he looks up to find Law sharing the space with him, reading a book or staring into space, sometimes cleaning his own sword. It’s a double-edged blade, or a blade with a blade for a hilt, that he can count on Law to share the quiet with him, but his thoughts will just wrap back around to the same place, as if he’s in a cul-de-sac with the exit forever behind the next obstacle, only it’s not really there. Law’s hands in motion, Law’s arms folded, Law’s brow furrowed in concentration, the wrinkled collar of his shirt. Zoro curls his feet against the soles of his boots, licks the inside of his dry mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It’s not that bad, really; Zoro can deal with it. He’s dealt with much worse.)</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The patch of sunflowers sticks out, tall enough to reach Zoro’s chest, and bright yellow against the white and purple and green of the clovers and the grass, and the muted hues of the wildflowers in the fields. Come to think of it, Zoro hasn’t seen any other sunflowers here. It would be wrong to pull them all up, the small spot where they’ve managed to grow, perhaps a mistake--perhaps they’re not suited to the climate, or a bad omen. But omens aren’t worth shit, or at least Zoro has the luck and the skill to cancel them out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crouches down by the cluster of flowers; there aren’t enough for a bouquet without ripping them all out, and what’s he going to do, just thrust them into Law’s hands without an explanation? Hope he takes them with him when they split up, tomorrow or the day after that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zoro turns his head at the sound of careful footsteps on the path behind him. Law coming to the flowers, instead of having to take them to him, solves that problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t stray far from the hideout,” says Law. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one’s going to see me,” says Zoro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rises back into a standing position, still surveying the sunflowers. Law doesn’t move to go back, and Zoro doesn’t either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They remind me of you,” Zoro says, inclining his head toward the flowers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Law looks at the flowers, then at Zoro. Zoro looks back at Law, holding his gaze. He won’t pull back or temper what he’s put on the table. Zoro steps closer. Their sleeves are nearly touching. He reaches for Law’s hand, fingers knotting in fingers, palm against palm. Slow, but not hesitant. Savored, like sword pressed against sword, blade scraping down blade. Law’s fingertips are cold, but his mouth is warm.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>